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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24905206">Like a River Runs</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepestfathoms/pseuds/deepestfathoms'>deepestfathoms</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Carrie (2013), Carrie - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cramps, Crying, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Menstruation, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Motherly Rita Desjardin, Touch-Starved, Vomiting, poor baby Carrie is so scared and in so much pain</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:08:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,341</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24905206</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepestfathoms/pseuds/deepestfathoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened after Miss Desjardin made all the girls leave the locker room....</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Carrie white &amp; Rita Desjardin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Like a River Runs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="">
    <p>Even after the girls file out of the locker room, the incessant shaking in Desjardin’s arms has yet to seize. Her eyes softened when she looked down at the girl clinging to her for dear life and she doesn’t think she’s ever seen a child this small before.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>It’s strange, she thinks. She’s had students much shorter before, but there’s something terribly different about this one. She wasn’t just small—she was thin, too. Thin and frail and gaunt, with sunken cheeks and pits for eyes. So thin that she could feel the poke of ribs and a sharp rigidity of a spine sticking out from under flesh beneath the bloodied towel shielding her pale frame. Emaciated wouldn’t quite be the word she would use to describe this girl, but rather—malnourished. She was malnourished.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>There was something horribly wrong with Carrie White’s body, and not just because she got her first period at the age of sixteen.</p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Okay, sweetie,” Desjardin said slowly, smoothing down strands of wiry wet hair. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But Carrie didn’t move. She remained coiled up on the shower floor, trembling and clinging to Desjardin’s shirt. When an attempt was made to move her, she whimpered in distress and resisted to the best of her ability. Desjardin stopped after a moment.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Honey, you gotta get up,” She told the girl.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“W-wait—” Carrie rasped. Her voice is weak from screaming and crying. “Please— I-it hurts...”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You’re having cramps,” Desjardin said.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I-I’m dying?” Carrie looked up at her with big, scared eyes that reminded Desjardin of a doe with a shotgun in her face.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“No, no,” Desjardin said quickly. “No, honey. You’re not dying, you’re okay! This is totally normal, I promise.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“B-but I-I’m <em>bleeding</em>!” Carrie squeaked. She glanced down at the small pool of blood that had accumulated underneath her as if to prove her point and then tried to wiggle even closer to Desjardin.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You really don’t know, do you?” Desjardin said more to herself than to Carrie. “This happens to every girl. The bleeding is completely normal.” She looked back down at the growing pool of blood and grimaced. There certainly was a lot of it and for a moment she began to wonder if Carrie actually was bleeding internally. The whimper of pain she made a second later definitely made it seem that way.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“We can continue talking about this once you get dressed,” Desjardin said, suddenly remembering that the student in her arms was completely naked underneath her towel. “Come on, sweetheart.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“N-no, please—” Carrie begged, tears springing to her eyes again. “P-please, it hurts, it hurts...!” She let out a keen-like whine and clung tighter to Desjardin’s shirt.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“O-kay,” Desjardin muttered, realizing that this was going nowhere. Carrie was far too shaken up to cooperate at the moment, so she had to come up with a different idea on how to help her. “Okay. That’s okay! Why don’t we— Carrie?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Carrie had suddenly gone very pale in Desjardin’s arms, breathing much shallower than she had been before. Her arms slip out from around Desjardin to hug at her stomach tightly. She pressed her head close to the coach’s chest.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Carrie?” Desjardin said. She squeezed her shoulder as she shuddered against her. “Carrie, sweetie, talk to me. What’s wrong?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“…hurts…” Carrie gurgled, holding tighter. Acid curls in the back of her throat.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I know, sweetie. I know.” Desjardin sighed sadly, threading her fingers through her wet hair.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“No, n-no, M-Ms. Desjardin—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Carrie suddenly jerked upwards and turned away just in time before vomit sprayed out of her lips.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh!” Desjardin cried, startled. Her eyes were wide as she quickly pulled the girl’s long hair out of the way. “Get it out, sweetie. It’s okay. Just get it out.” She was holding Carrie upright so she wouldn’t completely crumple in on herself and could feel prominent rib bones press against her arm. The fact that Carrie was also throwing up a pale, murky, completely-liquid substance wasn’t too comforting, either.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Did this girl ever <em>eat</em>?</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Eventually, Carrie stopped ejecting her internal organs through her mouth and collapsed backwards against Desjardin, panting heavily. Tears were streaming down her cheeks again.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’m sorry,” She whispered. “I-I’m sorry, I’m s-s-sorry—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s alright.” Desjardin assured her. “I’m a coach, remember? I make people throw up all the time.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Her attempt at joking went right over Carrie’s head. She just kept apologizing over and over again, visible fear flashing in her dark eyes.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Fear. Anxiety. Terror... Did Carrie think she was going to be punished?</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I-I don’t want to die,” Carrie wept. She writhed in an awful, heartbreaking way, her heels sliding against the puddles of blood on the tile. “P-please— Please, I’m s-sorry—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It was painful to watch. How could a child be so afraid of something so normal? How could they think they would be punished for throwing up when they felt sick? Desjardin couldn’t stand it.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She gently cupped one of Carrie’s cheeks, the other hand still coiled around her, and the girl froze. She appeared to be bracing herself, but blinked when Desjardin merely brushed away her tears and held her face tenderly.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Shh, shh,” Desjardin hushed her. “It’s okay, sweetie. I’m not going to hurt you.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Carrie took a few sharp breaths, her eyes darting around anxiously. Then, she seemed to tilt her head slightly into Desjardin’s hand and breathe out a semi-relieved sigh.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“There’s a couch in my office,” Desjardin said. “I’m sure laying there will be much more comfortable. I have a heating pad, too. Wouldn’t you prefer that than the cold floor?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Carrie blinked at her. “Y—” Her voice faltered, but she didn’t dare pull away from the hand tenderly cupping her cheek. “You aren’t mad at me?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“No, no, of course not.” Desjardin said. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Carrie. I promise.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“B-but...” Carrie sat up slightly, gritting her teeth through another painful cramp. “Th-the floor...” She stared at the period blood-and-vomit-spattered tile with a dismayed expression.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It’s a shower floor,” Desjardin reminded her gently. “It’ll all wash off. So there’s no need to worry.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Carrie looked Desjardin up and down warily, studying her for a long moment, then finally nodded slowly. “O-okay...”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Alright, great,” Desjardin said. “Process! We’re making process! Next...” She glanced momentarily at the mess. “You’re going to have to get dressed and cleaned up, okay? You’re also going to need to put a pad on.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“What’s that?” Carrie asked and Desjardin doesn’t think she’s ever looked so young before.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It’s a women’s hygiene product,” Desjardin explained. “You put it in your underwear and it’ll soak up the blood so it won’t get all over your clothes. But you’ll need to change it out every few hours or else it could give you an infection.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>That was the wrong thing to say- Carrie went even paler than she was before and hunched her shoulders in fearfully. Desjardin cupped her cheeks again and made her look up to her.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“But that’s not going to happen,” She said quickly. “Come on, now. You really need to get cleaned up.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Carrie had a hard time getting to her feet, but she managed to hoist herself upwards with the help of Desjardin. However, she was left on her own to clean up and get dressed. Which wasn’t exactly easy for her when she still didn’t know why she was bleeding in the first place, kept having these excruciating cramps, and had her thighs drenched in a thick caking of vaginal blood that weirdly smelled like sweetened fish.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Desjardin tapped a black pen against her desk as she waited for Carrie to finish washing off and getting dressed. She didn’t want to peek out and accidentally catch the already-shaken girl naked, but the amount of time she was taking was starting to get worrying. So, she turned her attention away from the strange gnawing of maternal instinct that was biting at her heart and to something else—which ended up being the first time she ever met Carrie White.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>At the beginning of the year it had just been another name among many on her class rosters. She was new to this particular school and had never heard of Carrie White or her overzealous mother. And then the first day came and she was calling attendance, and heard the tiniest voice say “here” when she came to the final name on the list.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She was like a starved lamb in a pack of wolves- prey that was being left around to be messed with by her peers. It didn’t take long for Desjardin to realize that Carrie was a target for all the other students. They would make fun of her, shove her around, and purposely throw things directly at her if they were doing something work balls. She had even been “accidentally” hit with a baseball bat when she “walked too close” when Norma was swinging.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The treatment of this girl was awful, and Desjardin couldn’t see why they did such a thing. She may have been small and skinny and awkward, but Carrie had no standout features that would be good to make fun of. Nor had Desjardin ever seen her do anything that would warrant so much hatred towards her. She was quiet and hung away from everybody and didn’t speak. So why did they all hate her so much?</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Desjardin snapped out of her thoughts when she heard the doorknob wiggle; Carrie stepped inside and Desjardin immediately took note on how she looked even worse than she did ten minutes ago- face very grey and dotted with sweat, teeth gritted into a tight grimace. shaking in exhaustion and pain. She was doubled over slightly, arms wrapped firmly around her stomach, and her eyes were glazed in a thick layer of delirium.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Carrie!” Desjardin hurried over to the girl and guided her over to the small grey couch in her office. “Here- lay down, sweetie. The heating pad is already warmed up, so just put it where it hurts the most.” She glanced at the bottle of Ibuprofen she had taken out of her bag and wondered if it would be okay to give Carrie one or two pills. The girl looked like she needed them badly. “I have medicine. Would you like to take some?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’m—I’m not—allowed—to take medicine.” Carrie stammered out with great force.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em>Why am I not surprised?</em> Desjardin thought bitterly, Margaret White’s shrewd face flashing in her mind. She wondered if Carrie was even <em>vaccinated</em>.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>No. She had to be. She wouldn’t be allowed in school if she wasn’t! Unless she was wormed in somehow...</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Carrie seemed to see the flashes of anger in Desjardin’s eyes and shrunk up against the grey couch cushions. She let out a distressed whimper and Desjardin snapped back to reality.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hey, shh,” Desjardin calmed her before she could panic again. “It’s okay, Carrie. Just rest up, okay?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Carrie nodded slowly, as if she were expecting some kind of strings attached to the words. When she realized that there truly wasn’t a catch, she closed her eyes and rested her head on one of the couch pillows, sliding the provided heating pad against her lower stomach. Not wanting to make her awkward by continuing to stare at her, Desjardin went back behind her desk and started on some work for the remainder of her off period without a class.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>For awhile, Desjardin just worked and Carrie just slept. Or, at least she thought she was sleeping for the first fifteen minutes, but then Carrie’s knees jolted a little and she pulled them even closer to her. Then, she started to writhe and squirm in visible discomfort, unable to get comfortable or fall asleep due to the intense pain of her cramps. It was difficult to not watch her cry and whimper softly to herself. Desjardin didn’t get into it as long as possible until she couldn’t anymore.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Carrie?” She knelt down beside the couch and gently touched the girl’s forehead, finding it hot and sweaty. “Carrie, honey, can you hear me?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Carrie’s eyes remained screwed shut for a moment, as if she thought the pain would go away if she pretended to be asleep for long enough, but then they peeled open and gave Desjardin a gaze that cried for help.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh, honey...” Desjardin murmured, stroking back sweaty locks of hair from Carrie’s face.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It—it h-hurts so bad, M-Mrs. D-D-Desjardin.” Carrie whimpered. screwed her eyes shut and hugged her stomach tighter. “A-are you—are you s-sure I’m not d-dying?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’m sure,” Desjardin said. “I promise. You’re okay and this is perfectly normal. It only hurts because your uterus is contracting to expel its lining and...” She trailed off, noticing the bewildered look in Carrie’s eyes. “Carrie, sweetheart...do you know what a uterus is?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Desjardin already knew the answer, but Carrie shaking her head was still like a punch to the gut anyway. The fact that any mother would ever shelter their daughter from her own anatomy felt cruel and wrong- no wonder Carrie was so shaken up.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She wanted to ask how Carrie couldn’t have possibly found out on her own, but then remembered hearing several times about the girl being pulled out of classes for the subject matter and she doesn’t think she’s ever seen her with any kind of cellular device, either. Which made a lot of sense- she couldn’t expect Margaret White to let her child have any form of entertainment or connection with others.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I-I’m sorry!” Carrie stammered fearfully. “I-I didn’t mean to!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You have done anything wrong, sweetie.” Desjardin reminded her. “I’m not mad at you, I promise.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Carrie nodded. She leaned her head into the warmth of Desjardin’s hand when her cheek was brushed gently. With a meek, nervous voice, she asked, “M-Mrs. Desjardin? Wh-What’s happening to me?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It’s your first period.” Desjardin told her.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Carrie blinked and went quiet for a long moment.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“But...my first period is Homeroom?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>Oh dear.</em>
  </p>
</div>
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